


It’s Not Too Late To Pick Up The Pieces

by half_alive



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, M/M, Moving On, Single Parent Barry Allen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, baweek2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_alive/pseuds/half_alive
Summary: After losing his soulmate and being left to raise their daughter on his own, Barry struggles to move on. Until he meets Len, who is struggling with his own loss. Moving on comes a little easier when he isn’t doing it alone.





	It’s Not Too Late To Pick Up The Pieces

The building was unassuming, and the room even more so. It was the kind of place you went to be discrete, with concrete floors and tall walls topped off by windows old enough that they were difficult to see through. It had once been a community centre, but they’d built a bigger, better one three blocks away four years ago, and it had since fallen into disuse.

In the centre of the room, some of the many chairs that littered the space had been pulled into a circle. There were only five other people here so far, but it was already more than Barry had been expecting.

He took a seat beside an older woman, who smiled sadly at him before she turned to keep staring listlessly at the floor. Barry stirred his coffee, shifting in his seat. He felt worse than when he’d come in.

“Alright,” one of the other men said, grabbing everyone’s attention. He was well-dressed in a button-down and slacks, his hair well-styled and his beard well-groomed. It stood out among the rest of them, who were sporting mostly sweatpants and unkempt hair. Barry himself was wearing the same jeans he’d worn yesterday and deep bags under his eyes from staying up with Nora half the night. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

He was met with silence, but continued on undeterred. “I see some new faces today. Welcome. I hope you find this group helpful, and that you get the support you need. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. And remember this is a judgment-free zone. You’re more than welcome to share anything you’d like, but you’re also more than welcome to just listen if you feel more comfortable. Why don’t we get started by introducing ourselves?

“I’m John. My soulmate, Lexie, passed away six years ago now. We’d been together since we were sixteen, and bonded since we were eighteen.” The leader, John, folded one leg over the other, looking around the group. Finally, the woman next to Barry cleared her throat.

They went around the room, introducing themselves, until it came to Barry’s turn. He wasn’t sure what to say. Everyone had tacked on their situation alongwith their name in that monotone, procedural way that suggested they’d each repeated the same words a dozen times. It was clear Barry was the only one here who’d never been before, and he was also the youngest by at least ten years.

“Uh, hi. I’m Barry.” He paused. The others looked at him expectantly, waiting, and he forced down the block that had risen up his throat like it always did when he tried to talk about this. “My wife, Iris, died… a year ago today, actually. It’s just me and our daughter, Nora, now.” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “And, yeah. I guess that’s it.”

John smiled at him. “Welcome, Barry. I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you came in. It can be difficult to find people who understand what you’re going through, but everyone here knows how hard it is to carry on after losing your soulmate. I hope we can be of some help.”

“Yeah,” Barry replied, trying to smile back. “Me too.”

The meeting continued in roughly the same fashion: the others went around swapping stories, talking about how difficult it was to just go about everyday life, or their struggles with moving on. They’d all been in the business much longer than Barry had, that much was clear, so half of what was shared felt impossible to him. Still, every so often there’d be something that just clicked, the way that nothing his friends had to say possibly could.

The only other person Barry knew who had lost their soulmate was Caitlin. It should have brought them closer, have made them turn to each other in their times of need, but instead it had only pushed them further apart. It was this heavy thing that hung between them every time they saw each other — the weight of knowing just how bad it was and also knowing there was nothing that could make it any better.

She’d been the one to suggest the support group, the last time they saw each other. That was three months ago now, but it was hard for Barry to find the time to do anything when he had a four year old at home who needed constant attention and only had him to give it to her.

There was another woman here who had also been left a single parent after her husband passed, and he found himself listening intently to everything she said. Her kids were older than Nora by many years, but she’d been doing it alone since they were much younger.

When the meeting came to a close two hours later, Barry walked away from it uncertain on whether he’d be going back. In some ways, it had only made him feel worse. He’d been managing fine these last few months, busy whirlwind parenting and going about his life now that he didn’t have someone to share some of the workload with. It was easy not to be sad when he was too busy to think about it, even if his heart ached for Iris every time he looked at Nora.

Now, driving home from the centre, all he could think about was Iris. His soulmark, the flower that had been her namesake, ached with phantom pain on the back of his neck.

As helpful as it had been to hear some of their stories, to hear about the different ways there were to keep going and how to honour Iris’s place in his daughter’s even when she was no longer here, Barry wasn’t sure he wanted to feel like this again. He only missed her even more.

.

It was midnight, and he couldn’t get Nora to sleep. She’d been alternating between screaming and great, heaving sobs for an hour now, twisting out of his arms every time he tried to take her up to bed. He’d tucked her in only to have her creep back downstairs four times now.

Sighing, he gave up. “Okay,” he told her. He grabbed her arm to keep it from smacking him in the face, hoisting her up higher on his hip. “Okay, fine.”

He looked around. He’d just finished cleaning the toys up off the living room floor, and the silver chrome of the fridge blinked back at him in the dark. It was covered in messy crayon drawings, half of them signed in backwards and uneven letters.

He sighed. “Why don’t we go for a drive?”

Nora settled immediately. She stared at him, nodding furiously, and then rested her head on his shoulder. Like this, she looked almost angelic. The tiny little thing he had fallen in love with before he’d ever even met her.

Getting Nora buckled into her carseat was easy. Within ten minutes, they were on the road, driving aimlessly around the neighbourhood. Everything looked different at night. The perfectly trimmed hedges, the crisp white paint, the small park at the centre of it all that Iris, five months pregnant, had spent days gushing about.

“Daddy?” Nora asked softly. In the overhead mirror, he watched her rub her eyes. “I’m hungry.”

That was how they ended up at a diner a few blocks away, one of the only places open so late.  _ Motorcar Diner _ . He’d come here with Nora a couple of times, mostly because it was conveniently close and didn’t make him feel like as shit a parent as picking up fastfood did.

It was empty apart from them and a burly man sitting at the long counter, sipping a coffee. The waitress smiled kindly, wrinkles around her eyes, and took their order as soon as they sat down. She looked as exhausted as Barry felt.

Nora played with her food when it came, trotting her fries around the plate and pulling the chicken strips apart. Barry tried to get her to stop, resting his hand on her arm every time she started up again, but it was hopeless. Finally, he gave up. There was no one here to judge them.

The door behind them opened, and Nora picked her fork up to stab it into the chicken and twist around in circles. It slipped out of her hands and clattered to the floor within seconds, and Barry sighed. He slid a little closer to the end of the booth, leaning down to pick it up, but someone had already grabbed it and was holding it out to him.

Barry looked up. The man must’ve just come in. He was wearing a long, dark coat that pulled up at the shoulders when he extended his hand. On his wrist, there was an intricate flame design in solid black, like the flower on the back of Barry’s neck.

Barry took the fork, staring at it until the man pulled his hand back. He tugged the sleeve of his coat down, and Barry glanced at his face to find he was wearing a guarded, unhappy expression.

“Thank you,” he waved the fork, then set it down on Nora’s side of the table. Guilt swam in his stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. I know how uncomfortable that is.”

The man only looked at him for a moment, appraising, before he tucked his hands in his pockets and shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s— Really, sorry. What are you having? It’s on me.”

“That’s really not necessary,” the man replied, perfectly cordial. Feeling ignored, Nora chose that moment to start playing with her food again and a stray fry went flying off her place. He watched it sail to the ground beside his shoe. A hint of a smile tugged up at the corners of his lips.

Barry took that as a good sign. His stomach unclenched a bit. “Nora,” he admonished as firmly as he dared. She gave him a sufficiently apologetic look and sank a little deeper in his seat. Barry turned back to the man. “Sorry again.”

“It’s fine,” the man repeated, but it was kinder this time. He surveyed the table, calculating, then glanced behind him towards the kitchen. “I suppose you could buy me a coffee, though.”

“Of course,” Barry said immediately. He flagged down the waitress, who’d been standing at the counter listening to the whole exchange. She nodded, flicking her hand, and disappeared into the kitchen. “Do you want to sit with us...?”

“Len.” He surveyed the table again, no doubt taking in the mess surrounding the plate of chicken fingers and the lone glass of water on Barry’s side. He bit his lip, then shrugged. “Why not?”

Barry smiled. He shoved his glass closer to Nora, then got up and rounded the table to her side, sliding in beside her so Len could sit alone. “I’m Barry. This is Nora.”

His daughter looked up from the art she was making in her ketchup, blinking warily at the stranger across from them before turning back to her dad. She tugged at the sleeve of his jacket until he lowered his ear to her. “He has pretty eyes,” she whispered behind her hand.

Barry snorted, ruffling her hair. He watched the ghost of a smile touch Len’s face again where he was leaned back in his seat, waiting for a coffee. When he realized Barry was looking at him, he said, “You’re good with her.” Barry looked pointedly at the mess that was her plate and the surrounding area, and Len laughed. “Kids. Sometimes there’s nothing to be done.”

“Do you have kids?”

“No. But my sister’s ten years younger than me and I’ve had custody since I was eighteen.”

Though there was clearly a story there, Barry didn’t ask. They didn’t know each other, and it wasn’t his place. He knew what it was like to get those intrusive questions from strangers who felt like they were entitled to your life story. It was why he wore collared shirts and kept his hair a little longer now.

They chatted aimlessly until the waitress had poured Len’s second cup of coffee and Nora had shoved her plate away from her to indicate that she was done. Mostly, they talked about kids, and everything Barry had to look forward to as Nora grew older and more independent. It was as terrifying a thought as it always had been, but a couple funny stories about Len’s sister Lisa made it a little easier to stomach.

When Nora started nodding off beside him, finally worn out for the night, Barry set a hand on her head and stroked her hair. “I think that’s my cue to get her home.” He rifled in his pockets for his wallet, pulling out a couple twenties and leaving them on the table.

“Of course,” Len replied. He started pulling his coat back on where he’d thrown it on the seat beside him.

They each exited the booth, Barry with Nora safely tucked against his shoulder. He smiled. “It was nice talking to you, Len. I hope we run into each other again sometime.”

Len hesitated. He could see the indecisiveness on his face as he looked at Barry, until finally it cleared and he swallowed. He was still looking intently at Barry when he said, “Or, we could plan to run into each other again, sometime.”

Barry fought back a teasing grin. “Are you asking for my number?”

Len rolled his eyes, any of the apprehension that was there disappearing immediately. “Well?”

Shifting Nora more to one side, he extended his hand. “Give me your phone.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Day 1 of Barry Allen Week, 'Soulmates'. I will probably be continuing it and have started the next part already, but I've marked it complete for now because that sort of depends on how much interest there is in this.
> 
> Love talking to you guys, and I appreciate every kudos and comment <3 Feel free to come shout at me on [Tumblr](https://frozenflash.tumblr.com), too!


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